


Battle Wounds and Battles Won

by ApolloLoki97



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Daryl is such a dad, Gen, Reader Insert, The Walking Dead Prison, prison era, teen!reader, twd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloLoki97/pseuds/ApolloLoki97
Summary: Since you were seven years old, your father has abused you. After the Turn, it only got worse. After meeting up with the Atlanta group at the quarry, the abuse continued but you hid it better as you grew closer to Daryl, Rick, and the Rhees.When you go on a run with Daryl and he discovers the bruises, he will do anything to keep you safe.---Or when Daryl finds out about your dad beating you and takes justice into his own hands.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & You, Daryl Dixon & reader, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	Battle Wounds and Battles Won

**Author's Note:**

> this was a request on my tumblr and any excuse I get to write Daryl protecting a kid, I am all for it.

The stark contrast of black and blue against your skin was all too familiar. **  
**

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you twisted and turned, trying to see every angle of your body. You were confident that with the right layers of clothing, nobody would notice the bruises or old scars. Even then, in the new world, injuries weren’t rare anymore. A bruised rib or a broken collarbone could always be blamed on a Walker or an accident. The Turn had made the lying easier, but the new broken world had only made your father angrier. 

The worst part was that most days, you didn’t even feel the pain. A bruise or a cut felt like nothing compared to what was going on outside the walls of the prison. Nothing really mattered except surviving and you had been doing that your whole life growing up with the Colonel as your father. 

Your father was once a good man, according to your mother who had died when you were seven. A military veteran, he was always happy, smiling, playing with you as a kid, and then cancer had taken your mom and he changed. It wasn’t overnight, but you could see the small changes even at a young age. He would sleep more than usual, get angry over little things, and soon you and your father had become isolated from the rest of your friends. You tried to pass it off as PTSD from his service days, but soon you realized that wasn’t the case at all. 

Then when the Dead began to rise, the emotional abuse turned physical as if the end of the world was somehow your fault. You took each push, kick, and slap like the punching bag he saw you as. He quickly became violent and used any excuse to take it out on you, but when faced with Walkers, your father was a coward, unable to handle the new reality. At just fifteen, you had killed more of the monsters than the man who was supposed to protect you. 

You owed a lot of your new survival skills to Rick, Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn. When you and your dad had met up with the group at the quarry, it had felt like a blessing from above. You were no longer alone and you thought that would make the violence stop, but in truth, he just got more clever and began leaving marks that were easily covered by clothing and you continued to hide them well. The only one that had suspected anything was Shane, but you had always brushed him off, assuring him you were fine. He had backed off, but you always saw him watching both you and your father, ready to step in if needed. 

However, of course, your father always made sure to never seem hostile towards you in front of the group. It was all a part of the act that pegged you as the perfect father-daughter duo, together till the end. In truth, most days you wanted to die, but there were people in your life now that made things a bit brighter.

Rick and Daryl taught you to survive; Glenn and Maggie were always there for you no matter what you needed, and Beth and Carl were the best friends you never had. You all had fought so hard to get the prison and now it felt like everything was going to be okay. You needed to keep the peace and so you stayed quiet and kept on surviving the only way you knew how: by acting as if everything was perfectly fine.

Yanking down your tank top, you pulled on a long sleeve flannel and made sure everything was covered before exiting the bathroom and walking through the cell block. The prison was just waking up and getting ready for another day. Carol and Michonne sat at a table nearby talking quietly, Beth sat in her cell holding Judith, singing softly to her, and you watched as Sasha came back into the cell block with her rifle, just coming down from her shift on watch.

Pulling your hair down from its ponytail, you made sure it cascaded over your back in case your shirt wasn’t high enough in the back. You moved through the block, smiling at people who said “good morning” and exited into the main courtyard. The Woodbury residents were also up and walking around as well. Karen waved to you as she began setting up for breakfast and you waved back.

The groans of the Walkers at the end of the yard pierced the calm morning and you knew that you should volunteer to work on the fence for the day. It was busywork, but it kept you occupied and it was oddly therapeutic. You already grabbed your weapons for the day so you began heading towards the main yard, eager to take out your frustrations. However, a hand on your arm stopped you. You jumped slightly but then stilled as your dad stood next to you. 

“What’s got you so jumpy this morning, (Y/N)?” the Colonel asked, smugly. 

“Didn’t sleep much,” you explained calmly, trying not to spark something inside him. He nodded and then pulled you aside, back behind Block D. 

“I need you to do something for me,” he said in a hushed voice. Dread entered your stomach at his tone. 

“Sure,” you nodded, trying to keep eye contact. 

“Do you know where Grimes keeps the extra rifles?” he asked and you furrowed your brow. 

“I think he still has the ones we found back in Atlanta. They might be in one of the sheds or I think Carl stashed some in the tombs, why?” you asked. Your father rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t ask why,” he snapped, “I just need you to get me some.”

“You want me to steal Rick’s guns?” you asked, now very worried. His jaw went rigid at your question, his eyes narrowing. 

“What’s not registering in that thick skull of yours?” he asked, moving closer to you. He raised his hand and you flinched. Your father laughed slightly, reaching out to smooth your hair. “I just want to be prepared in case anything were to happen, honey. I need to make sure I can protect you.” 

“We have guns,” you said slowly, gesturing to both of your sidearms. “And besides, you don’t need to steal weapons, we scavenge them for all of us,” you said carefully. The hand by your ear fell to your shoulder and he tightened his grip, causing you to flinch again. 

“What have I said about you talking back, (Y/N)?” he asked, leaning closer. “Can’t you just do what you’re fucking told for once in your damn life?” You shivered at his words, trying to remain calm as pain radiated through your already bruised shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“Don’t apologize,” he said, pushing away from you with a disgusted look. “Just get it done or we’re going to have to have another one of our talks,” he snapped before turning on his heel and walking away. You watched as he glided back through the courtyard, smiling at the other members of your group as if he didn’t just threaten his kid. You leaned against the wall, trying to level your breathing and hold in your tears. This was not the time to shut down. Back before the Turn, you could hide and cry in some backroom, but now, there was too much at stake. You didn’t have the luxury of becoming distracted. 

Pushing off the wall, you refocused on your initial task. Sliding open the first gate, you latched it behind you. The yard was slowly becoming overgrown and the stench of the corpses reached your nose immediately, only souring your mood further. As you walked towards the fence, your eyes caught Daryl as he pushed his bike towards the main gate. Glancing over your shoulder to make sure your dad was nowhere in sight, you ran after him.

“Daryl, wait,” you said, sliding to a stop on the gravel path. Daryl was dressed for a run. His leather jacket was on his back along with his winged vest and his crossbow was fastened to the motorcycle he leaned against. You and Daryl had been close since the start. Especially after you all lost Sophia, he had always kept an eye on you, always making sure you were safe. 

“Ya alright?” he asked, squinting at you in the bright sun. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, “where are you going?” you asked. 

“Judith needs more clothes and we’re runnin’ low on blankets for D block,” he explained, “I’m goin’ on a run about 20 miles out.”

“Want some company?” you asked and he raised his brows at you. You already knew what he was going to say. It was what he always said. 

“Yer safer here,” he said as he got onto his bike. You stepped in front of the motorcycle, grabbing the handlebars over the front wheel. “(Y/N)…” he warned.

“Carl goes on runs,” you reminded him. 

“No, he helped scavenge when we were on the road,” he corrected, “this is different.” You sighed but didn’t back down.

“Aren’t you the one who always tells me I gotta learn to survive on my own?” He narrowed his eyes at you at that. “I want to learn more and I’m not gonna do it behind these fences, Daryl. Please take me.”

“What about yer dad?” he asked and your heart skipped slightly. You only hoped he didn’t notice you pause. 

“He’s fine with it. I asked him just as I saw you pushing the bike out here,” you lied easily. Your eyes never left his as he thought over your request. It was either this or you would somehow have to come up with a way to find and steal the rifles Grimes kept away from the main prison population. Daryl looked around for a moment before nodding. 

“Fine, get on,” he relented. You didn’t have time to thank him as you were rushing to the back of the bike and climbing on behind him. “If yer gonna come with me,” he continued, “ya listen to everythin’ I say and if I tell ya to run, ya run. Understand?” 

“Completely,” you said, smiling behind his back. Daryl shook his head at your eagerness and then kick-started the bike. You wrapped your arms around his abdomen as he took off towards the main gate. Glenn was waiting there ready to open the gate and he waved to you both as you sped out of the prison and past the group of Walkers that circled your chain link home. 

Daryl revved the engine and the bike picked up speed, flying down the road. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as the wind whipped through your hair and you felt just an ounce of freedom for the first time in months. However, there was a pit in your stomach as you thought about what was going to happen when you got home and your dad realized where you had gone after giving you an order. Tightening your grip on the archer, you tried to only focus on the rumble of the bike and not whatever terrors waited for you back in Cell block C. 

* * *

You and Daryl reached your destination by the afternoon. 

Having to take a quick detour to avoid a small herd, you finally arrived at a small stretch of shops just off the highway. Your target was the thrift shop on the corner. Grabbing the duffel bag Daryl had brought along, you headed towards the decrepit building. Daryl kept his crossbow up as you knocked on the side of the door frame, waiting for anything, Living or Dead, to come out into the light.

Two Walkers approached the two of you and Daryl took one out while you stabbed the other with your knife. Both corpses dropped to the ground and Daryl dragged them out of the doorway. “Alright, keep close,” he said and you followed him into the shop. 

It was clear that this particular shop hadn’t been picked clean like most places you had raided while looking for supplies. You followed Daryl through the cluttered aisles, making notes of anything that could be useful at the prison. Daryl kept his eye on you as he packed up everything he needed. Grabbing batteries and walkie talkies, you slid them into a backpack you found on one of the racks.

“I’m gonna go see if they have any more radios,” you said, pointing over at the wall of secondhand electronics. Daryl hesitated for a moment, peering over the shelves before nodding. 

“Alright,” he agreed and you climbed over a fallen bookcase and began sifting through old wires and CD cases. You were hoping to find an old Walkman or something for Carl, give him something to listen to when he worked in the gardens. He had been complaining about Beth’s singing lately so you figured he could use a change of tune. Spotting what you were looking for, you stood on your toes, trying to reach it on the top shelf when suddenly, a groan echoed in your ear. 

You spun around just as the Walker appeared out of nowhere. “Shit!” you swore as it fell into you, taking you to the ground. You cried out as your arm slammed into the metal shelf, most likely making the bruise that was already there worse. The Walker snapped its jaws at you as you fumbled with it’s rotting flesh, trying to keep it away from your throat. As you stared up at the Dead man, you felt the world pause around you. Locking your eyes onto its teeth, you began to think, maybe it wouldn’t be such a horrible thing to walk the world unaware of horrors of the Dead or the Living. 

Loud footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts as you pushed the creature back again, bringing your knee up to kick it back. It rolled off of you and as it lunged back, a bolt exploded from its eye as Daryl took it down. Clutching your arm, you stared at the Walker, trying to get your heart rate to settle. “Thanks,” you breathed, looking up at Daryl.

“Ya okay?” he asked, kicking the Walker out of the way. You nodded and then he offered his hand. Daryl grabbed hold of you and helped you to your feet. When his hand wrapped around your arm, you winced, pulling it back. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you said, dragging your sleeve down and picking up the bag that had fallen. Daryl, however, wasn’t taking that as an answer. 

“Let me see it,” he said, reaching for you again, but you scrambled back again. His face fell then, staring at your arm with a stiff jaw. “Ya get bit?” he asked in a very low voice. 

“What? No!” you said.

“Then let me see yer damn arm,” he continued, getting more agitated. 

“I smacked it when the Walker tackled me, Daryl, I’m fine,” you repeated, trying to get him to drop the subject. Daryl was never one to give up, especially when he was worried and so he pressed the issue. 

“What the hell is goin’ on with ya, (Y/N)?” he snapped, “Why the sudden need to go on a run?” 

“Why do you care?” you asked. 

“Cause ya ain’t tellin’ me the truth,” he said, taking another step towards you. The reason for the run was now completely forgotten as he stared at you, waiting for answers, but it was only pissing you off. You had asked to go with him so you could avoid being interrogated or yelled at. 

“Just leave it alone, Daryl. Get back to work,” you snapped, turning away from. 

“Nah,” he said and he reached out to grab you again, but you started, tossing your hands up to avoid his touch.

That’s when Daryl froze. 

“What?” you asked. Daryl wasn’t moving as his eyes were locked on your stomach. Confused, you looked down only to see your tank top had ridden up in the scuffle and a large yellowing bruise was peaking out from the top of your jeans along with a scar that reached from your naval to the side of your rib cage. You quickly shoved your shirt down, buttoning your flannel as well. 

“What the hell is that?” Daryl asked, his voice deadly low. 

“Nothing,” you dismissed, making sure the rest of your skin was covered. Daryl shuffled forward, reaching to touch your arm, but you flinched and he paused once again. You cursed under your breath. You had never felt afraid around Daryl, not even when he was with his brother, Merle, but you weren’t thinking clearly. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, unsure what to do. You turned away from him. You knew this was bound to happen at some point and you could feel the many questions that filtered through the thick air of the dusty shop. Daryl waited patiently next to you as thoughts rolled around in your head. All you could see was the Colonel’s face in your head as he told you over and over again that nobody would believe you. Why would anyone believe you?

“(Y/N)?” His voice was steady, but you could hear the worry in his tone, something you hadn’t heard since you were seven years old.

Slowly, you reached out your hand towards him, palm up. Your hand shook as Daryl carefully took your hand in his, smothering it in warmth. Immediately, you fell to your knees as the tears fell from your eyes. Daryl followed you to the floor, his crossbow forgotten as he focused solely on you. “You can’t tell anyone when we get home,” you sobbed, but Daryl was shaking his head. 

“We’re not leavin’ until ya tell me what happened,” he said, gripping your hand tightly. Looking into his blue eyes, you searched for hostility, judgment, or even rage, but all you saw was concern. Concern for you. Taking your hand back from his, you slowly unbuttoned your shirt and slid it from your shoulders. 

Daryl’s hand came up to cover his mouth as he saw your bare arms for the first time. Bruises were across both arms and along your collarbones. A fresh one was blooming on the shoulder the Colonel had gripped earlier. Next to the bruises were old and new scars made from multiple blades or even sharp rocks he used when he wanted to be creative. Daryl’s finger slowly traced over an old burn mark that was in the junction of your left elbow. He quickly recognized it as a cigarette burn. “Are there more?” he asked, carefully. 

“Yes,” you told him and then quickly pulled on your flannel again, eager to cover yourself up. “Just in less noticeable places. Most of the scars have faded, though.”

“Who did this to ya?” he asked, but you had a feeling he had already guessed. You looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks. “Yer dad do this to ya?” You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t deny it either and that was good enough for him. Anger cascaded over his features immediately and you grappled for his hands. 

“Please, Daryl!” you begged, “You can’t tell anyone!” He was already shaking his head. 

“Nah, this shit stops now,” he growled getting to his feet. You followed after him, still trying to get him to stop. “Why didn’t ya say anythin’?” he asked, trying to keep calm. You remained quiet, watching him pace. “Who knows?”

“Nobody,” you whispered. 

“Bullshit,” he said, “no way nobody hasn’t seen anythin’,” he challenged. 

“Shane suspected,” you admitted and then you told him something nobody else knew. “Amy knew too.”

“Andrea’s sister?”

“She saw him hit me the day she died,” you said softly. “She tried to get me to tell Shane, but I couldn’t.” 

“And Shane?” Daryl asked.

“He saw the bruises,” you told him.

“Walsh never said anythin’,” Daryl said, running a hand over his face. 

“I told him not to.” 

“Why?” he asked, looking at you with an almost pleading look in his eyes. It took you a minute to think. Nobody had ever asked you why you never spoke out against the violence. 

“I’m scared. He’s strong,” you said, stating the obvious, “He would always convince them that I was lying! He’s a decorated Veteran, Daryl. How am I supposed to tell a bunch of strangers when my own friends and family would never believe me?” Something clicked in his brain then. 

“How long?” he asked. You were quiet, unable to get the words out. “(Y/N), how long has he been hurtin’ ya?”

“Since before the Turn. It started when I was seven, after my mom died,” you whispered and he lost it. Daryl lashed out, shoving things off the shelf closest to him. You jumped at the loud crash, but he didn’t seem to notice. “He’s always threatened anyone who tried to call CPS or the cops,” you explained, softly, “He’s always fought people who found out.” Daryl scoffed. 

“Yeah, well, he ain’t never fought me,” Daryl sneered. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled, kicking out at the dead Walker on the ground. You jumped again as gore splattered across the floor. Daryl noticed it this time and realized he was scaring you. “I’m sorry,” he said, more gently this time. “Come ‘ere, it’s okay, I’m sorry” he offered and this time you fell into his arms, gripping him so tight, you thought your arms would break. 

“I’m sorry,” you said into his chest. 

“Ya got nothin’ to apologize for,” he said as he held you. “Don’t you dare say yer sorry. That son of a bitch did this to you, (Y/N). It’s not yer fault. Alright?” you nodded against him. “Yer one hell of a survivor.” He was quiet for a moment before he said what you were dreading to hear. “You know I gotta tell Rick.” 

“Please don’t,” you cried, too tired to fight any harder. 

“I’ll be careful, but he’s gotta know what that asshole is doin’ to ya,” Daryl said, smoothing down your hair. “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you anymore, (Y/N). Ain’t nobody ever will.” With those words, you knew he was telling you the truth. You only hoped that your father hadn’t already found those rifles.

* * *

Daryl took you home as soon as you both calmed down. 

The prison was the last place you wanted to be right now, but it was going to get dark and Daryl needed to talk to Rick. You clung to his back as he sped down the main road back towards home. Once you had stopped crying, Daryl had asked to see more of your injuries. You had shown him your back, the bottoms of your feet, and the old scars in your hairline. You were too ashamed and embarrassed to show him anymore and he understood. 

You didn’t know what he was planning to do when you got back. You figured he and Rick would discuss what was going on and maybe then speak to your father. Rick was a cop before the Turn, he would have to know what to do. 

Leaning against Daryl, he would reach down occasionally and squeeze your hand, letting you know that he was still there with you. For the rest of the ride, you just listened to the wind whip through your hair and tried not to think about what came next. 

When the prison came into view, you felt as if you were going to get sick. Daryl pulled the bike through the gate as Maggie held it open. Rolling to a stop, he helped you off and made sure you were steady on your feet. “Where’s the haul?” Glenn asked as he came running up to you, his wife joining you as she finished closing up the main gate. 

“Where’s Rick?” Daryl asked. Glenn furrowed his brow at Daryl’s eagerness and then he noticed how you weren’t making any eye contact with anyone else. 

“He’s with Michonne and Carl in the library. Carol is there too,” Glenn explained. “What’s going on?” 

“I need you and Maggie to take (Y/N) and keep her with you,” Daryl told him. “Don’t let her out of yer sight, ya understand?”

“Daryl,” Maggie said gently, “what’s wrong?” Daryl glanced at you and then back at the Rhees. 

“Her dad’s been beatin’ her,” Daryl explained and Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not lettin’ that asshole near her again so if ya could look after her while I talk to Rick…”

“Of course,” Maggie said. Glenn nodded as he tried to process what he had just heard. Daryl nodded to both of them before approaching you and taking your face in his hands. 

“Stay with Maggie and Glenn,” he told you, “I’m gonna fix this.” You took a deep breath but nodded. He smoothed your hair down once more before grabbing his bow and heading towards the main building. Glenn and Maggie took you in their arms and started leading you away from the main gate and as you watched the archer walk away, all you could see was an avenging angel.

* * *

Daryl found Rick and the others where Glenn said they would be. 

“Hey, you,” Carol greeted with a smile but quickly frowned as she saw his facial expression. “Daryl?” 

“Is it just us in here?” he asked, looking around. 

“Yeah, why?” Rick asked, looking at his best friend in confusion. Daryl dropped his bow on the table and leaned against it, reaching over to ruffle Carl’s hair, affectionately. 

“Daryl?” Michonne asked, trying to get the man’s attention, but Daryl was trying to do everything he could to stay calm. 

“We got a problem,” he said, his fingers curling around the blade strapped to his thigh. “(Y/N) just told me that her father has been beatin’ her since she was seven.” 

“What?” Carol said, breaking the silence that immediately followed Daryl’s announcement. 

“Yeah, I saw some bruises and she told me everythin’. He beats her under this roof and it’s bad,” Daryl said, clenching his teeth.

“How bad?” Rick asked, his hands on his hips. Daryl noticed his friend kept his hand on his gun as well. 

“Some scars look like they took weeks to heal,” Daryl admitted, “Bastard makes sure to hit her, burn her, and cut her where nobody can see it.”

“And none of us noticed?” Michonne asked, clearly distraught by the information. 

“Shane did,” Daryl revealed. “Amy too,” he said to the others. “Shane tried to get her to say somethin’, but the girl is too scared of him.”

“Her own dad?” Carl asked, surprised. Rick reached for his son, placing his hands protectively on Carl’s shoulders.

“Yeah, kid,” Daryl said. “Some people ain’t meant to be parents.”

“I never noticed…” Carol whispered, horrified and Daryl reached for her hand. “I should have noticed.”

“Don’t do that,” Daryl said, “He’s had her terrified of him for years, Carol. I don’t think anyone would have outright noticed.”

“And Shane Walsh did?” she asked. 

“Who knows what he was thinkin’.”

“If Shane had really thought somethin’ was happenin’ to her,” Rick said, “I know he would have done somethin’, but he wasn’t all that level headed at the end.” Daryl agreed with that much. 

“Okay, so where is she now?” Michonne asked, reaching for her Katana. 

“Maggie and Glenn have her with them,” Daryl explained. “They ain’t lettin’ her out of their sight until we deal with this.”

“And how do we do that?” Carol asked. 

“Are you gonna kill him?” Carl asked. It wasn’t an odd question. Anyone who threatened the safety of the group always ended up gone or dead at some point or another. Daryl most definitely wanted to slit the Colonel’s throat, but it wasn’t that simple. 

“We banish him,” Rick said. “She stays with us and he can fend for himself.”

“Is that going to be enough?” Michonne asked. 

“I don’t know,” Rick sighed, “Daryl, did she say anything about wanting to stay with him?”

“I didn’t ask,” Daryl snapped. “Why would she want to?”

“He’s her father,” Carol said, “even though he abuses her, that’s never going to change.”

“So what?” Daryl said, “Blood don’t make family! We’re her damn family. We take care of her, teach her how to survive. He lost the right to be her fucking father when he hit her the first damn time.” Rick nodded, hearing his friend clearly. There was only one way this would end. Your father had to go. 

“Then let’s go get this son of a bitch,” Rick said and Daryl grabbed his crossbow. 

—–

Carl went to go find Judith and to explain to Herschel, Sasha, Tyreese, Beth, and the others what was going on while Rick, Daryl, Carol, and Michonne went to go find the Colonel.

They found him coming out of the garden shed, heading back towards C Block. “Daryl,” Rick warned as Daryl’s finger twitched on the trigger of his bow. Daryl calmed down only slightly as the four of them approached your father. 

“(Y/L/N)!” Rick called, gaining his attention. Your dad grinned at the former sheriff and jogged over. 

“Hey, have any of you seen my kid? She just disappeared earlier,” he said, glancing around. 

“Why?” Daryl snapped, “Ya need to take some anger out on her? Not sure ya can find any unmarked skin at this point.” Your father looked at Daryl in shock. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, crossing his arms. 

“Like hell, ya don’t!” Daryl said, getting in his face. Rick didn’t pull him back this time. “I saw the scars, asshole, I saw what ya did to her!”

“You mean the scars she did to herself?” The Colonel said as he chuckled. “That girl of mine is disturbed, Dixon. Whatever you think you saw, it’s not what you think.”

“Like hell, it ain’t,” Daryl snapped. 

“(Y/N) told Daryl everything,” Rick said. “You’re done here. I’ll give you some supplies, but once you leave these walls,” Rick leaned in close to your father, “if you show up again, I will kill you.” 

“Wow,” your dad gasped, mocking Grimes, “you know I always assumed she was a trouble maker, but this?” he then turned to look at Daryl with a smug smile, “so what did she offer you for this? Are ya gettin’ some of that?”

Daryl didn’t hesitate as he lunged at the Colonel. Daryl pinned him to the ground, throwing punches one right after the other. “You sick son of a bitch!” he yelled, wrapping his hands around the other man’s throat while your father laughed the entire time. 

“Daryl, stop!” Michonne yelled as she and Rick grabbed both of his arms and hauled him off. “Look!” she hissed in his ear, turning his face towards the guard tower where you stood in the doorway, eyes wide. You watched the scene unfold with Glenn and Maggie behind you, keeping their hands on your shoulders. 

Daryl’s hands were covered in blood as he stared at you. Your eyes flickered back and forth between him and your father as he bled on the ground. And it was then that you knew something was horribly wrong. Your father was never this calm unless he was thinking. 

Even when he would get angry, it was always controlled and he was always able to direct it so it hit true. As you stared at him, his eyes met yours and terror flew through you as he looked at you with pure hatred. As Rick and Michonne tried to control Daryl, they missed how your father jumped to his feet and went for Rick’s revolver. 

It all happened in what felt like slow motion. Your father’s hand made contact with Grimes’ holster, pulling the weapon and pulling back the hammer. You went to scream as he trained the gun on you, but when the shot rang out, you felt no pain. Arms covered you as Glenn and Maggie shielded you, but there was no blood from them either. 

Pushing through them, you looked out onto the yard again and watched as blood dripped from your father’s throat and mouth. A bullet wound had entered his jugular, spraying blood, and standing behind him, with her weapon raised, was Carol. 

Your father fell to the ground, choking on his own blood as Carol lowered her pistol. Your knees gave out just as he stopped moving and a cry flew from your throat. You weren’t sure if it was from grief or relief that it was finally over. You squeezed your eyes shut as Michonne finished off the body with a strike to the brain with her sword. 

Maggie and Glenn were talking to you, but you couldn’t understand anything they were saying. All you could feel was pressure on your body as they held onto you. You didn’t even realize you were screaming until Daryl fell to his knees in front of you and grabbed your shoulders. 

“Shh! It’s okay, you’re okay,” Daryl soothed you as you reached for him. He took you in his arms, pulling you from Maggie and Glenn. “It’s over, it’s all over.” You cried into his shoulder, holding onto him with all your strength. 

You clutched at his back, feeling the angel wings that were stitched into his vest. Nobody had cared about you the way Daryl Dixon had. Not since your mother and finally, you allowed yourself to breakdown since the Turn. It had taken you a long time to remember that the Walkers weren’t the only monsters out there and that sometimes they were the ones you trusted most. 

Daryl kissed the side of your head as you collapsed into him in that dark doorway of the guard tower. Maggie and Glenn had excused themselves and it felt as if you could stay in his arms forever and you would be safe. “Yer with me now, kid. I got you, (Y/N), and I ain’t ever gonna let anyone else hurt ya,” he promised and as he held you and promised you a better future, you believed every word he said.


End file.
